A Deal with Dumbledore

"Oh, Merlin's beard!"

Head of House Sprout's mouth fell slightly open as she let out a startled cry.

The other professors were stunned as well. None of them had expected Lockhart to pull off something so utterly absurd.

Knocking himself out with his own spell was simply humiliating beyond words.

How could someone so ridiculous possibly become a professor?

The professors exchanged looks, then unanimously turned to Dumbledore, hoping he could offer a reasonable explanation.

"You know, Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers aren't easy to find."

Dumbledore shrugged helplessly and spread his hands.

"Besides, he applied for the position himself."

The way the professors looked at Lockhart instantly changed.

Everyone knew that the Defense Against the Dark Arts position had been cursed by The Dark Lord. Anyone who took the post would resign within a year due to one mishap or another.

Some had even lost their lives because of it.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had become practically disposable. Every year, Dumbledore had to rack his brains over who to appoint.

Lockhart's volunteering had indeed solved one of Dumbledore's major problems to some extent.

However, Dumbledore had never expected Lockhart to be so incompetent, nor to perform so miserably.

The commotion at the teachers' table caught the students' attention.

The professors certainly did not want the students to know that Lockhart had been knocked out by his own spell. That would have been far too embarrassing for the faculty.

So they sprang into action, doing everything they could to cover for Lockhart.

Head of House Sprout swiftly cast the Levitation Charm and quietly carried Lockhart away.

Watching this, Wes actually began to worry about the quality of Defense Against the Dark Arts instruction this school year. After all, he was the only one who knew Lockhart was a fraud.

He could already imagine what the students would learn in class.

For example: how to wear the perfect smile; a hundred ways to care for one's hair... things like that.

Thinking of this, Wes could not help feeling sorry for the students.

Soon, it was time for bed, and the students gradually dispersed.

Just as Wes was about to return to his dormitory, Dumbledore invited him.

"Wes, could we have a chat?"

"Of course." Wes agreed without hesitation.

The two of them then went to the Headmaster's Office together.

The moment they sat down, Dumbledore said, "Wes, I never expected that after one holiday apart, your growth would surprise me so much."

"I was merely a little more diligent than others."

Wes looked calmly at Dumbledore.

"This is not something diligence alone can accomplish. There will always be a small number of people in this world who can achieve things that ordinary people may never reach in their entire lives without putting in much effort."

"Such people are called geniuses. And you, Wes, are an exceptionally special existence even among geniuses."

There was curiosity in Dumbledore's words, as well as appreciation for this young man.

Even he and Voldemort had not reached this level at Wes's age.

Wes appeared perfectly composed in the face of Dumbledore's praise.

But inwardly, he thought, Becoming a Level 4 Wizard was mainly due to my own hard work. The panel only gave me "a tiny bit of help," but the panel is part of my talent too. How am I not a genius?

"Headmaster, you didn't bring me here just to praise me, did you?"

Wes raised an eyebrow slightly, his tone teasing.

"Why not?"

Wes made as if to stand up and leave.

"Fine, I really do have something to discuss with you." Dumbledore muttered, "Young people these days really have no patience at all."

Dumbledore's expression turned serious. "Wes, Voldemort will return."

"So what?" Wes was not surprised by the Dark Lord's return. "I'm not afraid of him."

"Of course. Last year, you gave him quite a thorough beating. As far as I know, Voldemort is not particularly broad-minded."

Dumbledore recalled Wes's fight with Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest last semester and frowned slightly.

"He's just a stray dog."

Wes did not take Voldemort or his Death Eaters seriously at all.

"You underestimate Voldemort too much."

Dumbledore took a list from a drawer, its pages densely packed with names.

"These are?" Wes looked at the long string of names, and the sheer density of them gave him a headache.

"Voldemort's supporters."

Dumbledore explained in a grave tone.

"Are all of them Death Eaters?" Wes asked.

"Not all of them. Some support him in secret."

Only then did Wes take the list from Dumbledore and examine it carefully. As he read, a cold smile appeared on his face. He set the list down and said to Dumbledore:

"They're all Pure-blood families."

"The pure-blood theory is complete nonsense without any basis whatsoever, yet some families believe in it wholeheartedly."

Dumbledore was helpless in this regard and could only shake his head.

"Voldemort is a firm supporter of pure-blood theory. He even abandoned the name he used during his Muggle years."

"Someone who abandons even his past does not deserve a future." Wes's words caught Dumbledore off guard.

"I didn't expect you to have such insight."

Dumbledore was somewhat surprised.

"A Muggle said it. I merely borrowed it." Wes said lightly.

"Muggles do not lack wise people. They simply chose a different path from ours..."

Dumbledore drifted off topic as he spoke, and Wes was the one who pulled him back.

"Where were we?"

Dumbledore seemed to be getting old. He had forgotten everything they had just discussed in one go.

"Voldemort," Wes reminded him.

"Yes." Dumbledore sank into memory. "When he was a student, he was practically perfect. The previous headmaster spoiled him terribly."

At that moment, the portrait of the former headmaster, Armando Dippet, suddenly spoke from the wall. "Dumbledore, why are you saying this? Are you trying to humiliate me?"

"Of course not. You were deceived by him back then as well."

Dumbledore hurriedly explained, a trace of apology on his face.

Only then did Armando Dippet's portrait angrily close his eyes and stop speaking.

But Wes was growing impatient. "Headmaster, after wasting so much breath, what exactly are you trying to tell me?"

"I'm old." Dumbledore looked at his long white beard, his expression weary and entirely lacking the vigor he had shown during the day.

"I no longer have the energy to deal with Voldemort's resurgence."

Wes naturally understood Dumbledore's intentions. He deliberately raised his voice. "You want to recruit me?"

"Yes."

"My fee doesn't come cheap."

The corners of Wes's mouth curled upward slightly.

"Do young people these days have no sense of responsibility at all?"

"Don't try to guilt-trip me. You want me to deal with the Dark Lord who terrifies the entire British Wizarding World."

"It is indeed dangerous. Let me think."

Seeing that Wes was not easy to fool, Dumbledore turned his back and sank into thought.

"I've thought of something." Dumbledore took a book from the shelf. "I found this by chance in an Egyptian pharaoh's tomb while exploring in my youth."

"Egyptian Book of the Dead?"

"Don't be misled by its name. It actually contains scriptures written by ancient scribes for the dead, including spells and hymns."

Dumbledore explained, "It records many powerful and mysterious spells."

"You're willing to give something so valuable to me?"

"I have studied this book for decades without fully understanding it. I fear I will not complete that task in the rest of my life either. I have no intention of taking it to my grave."

Dumbledore used it as a bargaining chip. It would give Wes something to gain, but he also sincerely wanted to entrust it to him.

After all, Wes had already reached Dumbledore's level at such a young age. Perhaps this was another form of inheritance.

The Egyptian Book of the Dead was extraordinarily precious and could be said to be the origin of Egyptian magic. This reward far exceeded Wes's expectations.